


Don't Wanna Lose Myself (In Someone Else's Dream)

by polyamorousgraysexual



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Disassociation, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyamorousgraysexual/pseuds/polyamorousgraysexual
Summary: In which Chris is a photographer and Sebastian's a personal assistant, and everything goes wrong before it goes very right.
Relationships: Chris Evans & Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan
Kudos: 28





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from ['Who I'm Meant to Be' by Anthem Lights](https://open.spotify.com/track/6nguvUoylrJ9EgDJSABXRU?si=Qmlv7Aa4TDSc7cbNpngJgg)

**Now**

“I can’t do this,” Sebastian snuggles further down in his thick, woolen, winter coat, stamping his feet and rubbing his gloved hands together in search of warmth. “It’s just too damned cold out here.”

“Wimp.”

“Fuckhead.”

“…”

“Fine. Jerk. Where do you want me?”

Chris frowns and spins on the spot before pointing out a stoop on the other side of the road, “Up there, please.”

“That’s someone’s front door.”

“We’ll only be a second.”

“Fine,” Sebastian huffs, ripping his gloves off so he can stuff his hands into his pockets. He throws them at Chris’ face for good measure, scowling when they flop down into the snow. He’s never liked the stupid things, they’re ugly and everything itches whenever he wears them, but they weren’t cheap and he’s not about to give up now. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. Just… don’t move, okay?”

Chris raises his camera and Sebastian flips him the bird, just as the shutter clicks. Sebastian can’t help bursting into laughter and the shutter slams down, once, twice, three times.

“Perfect,” Chris grins. “Be serious for a second, yeah?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes but does as he’s asked. He desperately wants a Starbucks and God help Chris if that’s not where they go next, but this is his best friend and he can’t bear to let him down. New York is one of the most photographed – if not most photogenic – cities in the whole of the US; someone living with a photographer is bound to find himself in a photoshoot sooner or later, whether he wants to or not. But it still doesn’t take long before he’s squirming under the all-seeing eye of the lens, making Chris frown, brow wrinkling in a curious mixture of annoyance and concern.

“All done,” he says, still looking not entirely satisfied. “Let’s get out of here.”

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Sebastian vacates the highjacked steps and bounds over to direct big, blue puppy eyes at his friend, “Coffee now?”

“Are you paying?”

“Asshole.”

Chris nods and gives him the best shit-eating grin he’s seen in a while. It lights up his whole face and Sebastian wonders why he doesn’t do it more often because it’s kind of pretty and effortlessly endearing and… oh. Sebastian’s completely fucked. He’s so far gone for Chris that he might as well follow the man around with his tongue hanging out and tail wagging for all he’s able to hide it. It’s like all the world’s worst clichés and tropes decided to mosey along and hang out in his brain, just to mess with him. He knows that he’s not always had the healthiest relationship with his brain but when it’s actively trying to sabotage his whole existence, that’s just not fair.

“You’re getting something to eat too, right?” Chris asks.

He sounds concerned, bless him, so Sebastian nods, even though, no, he hadn’t intended on getting food. His jeans firmly hug his hips, the bones don’t stick out of his elbows quite so sharply anymore and he thinks he’s actually a pretty healthy weight now, although he’s still too scared to actually get on the scales to check.

They take the steps down to the subway two at a time, Chris’ camera swinging wildly, and dash for the platform, vaulting the gates and leaping onto the train just before the doors slide shut. Laughing breathlessly, they flop into the nearest pair of empty seats. Sebastian zones out a bit as he always does on public transport, his mind wandering as he people watches, engrossed in imagined stories of imagined lives and imagined conversations. He only realizes that he’s doing it again when Chris sticks an elbow in his side and asks if he’s listening.

“Shit. Sorry.”

“You okay?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. Chris wouldn’t be Chris if he didn’t worry but it’s still tiresome to deal with day in day out, even if he acknowledges that he’s given his friend plenty of reasons to be concerned. They’re only just falling back into familiar rhythms and it’s been over a year now.

“I’m fine, dude.”

“Uh huh.”

Chris doesn’t sound convinced but he drops it anyway. He’s a good friend like that. They get off the subway two blocks from the apartment and drop into their local Starbucks. Sebastian flirts outrageously with the barista, Paul, and orders their usual. Black coffee for himself and a triple shot caramel venti latte for Chris. He gets himself a banana in deference to Chris’ sensibilities. The man’s got a protective streak a mile wide and damn if it doesn’t turn his cute level up to eleven. He also gets Paul’s number, but that’s just a satisfying byproduct.

“I got you some coffee with your sugar,” Sebastian announces, handing Chris his cup while trying to simultaneously hold on to the banana and pour skimmed milk into his scalding hot Americano. Chris doesn’t dignify the teasing with a reply, just sweeps out of the shop in mock offense. “Diva!” Sebastian yells after him, running to keep up.

The little fucker just laughs and flips him the bird. Not that Chris is particularly small these days. He’s been working out a lot lately and it shows, muscles bulging under clingy fabric, rock hard abs and tight skinny jeans. Sebastian keeps meaning to make it to the gym but life always seems to get in the way and he doesn’t want to bulk up anyway. They climb the stairs to the apartment, falling through the door to the building just as it starts to rain, and Sebastian questions his sanity; who needs the gym when you have eight flights of concrete to scale twice a day? They’re both poor as hell, so it’s not a particularly nice building but at least the apartment itself is cozy. Even when the heating switches off in the middle of the night on the coldest day of the year, they can cuddle together under a mountain of blankets, duvets and pillows, buried deep in worn out hoodies that admittedly do more for comfort than warmth. Once they’re inside, Chris immediately extracts the memory card from his camera and flips open his laptop, setting to the task of uploading the photos before he’s even taken off his coat. Sebastian throws himself onto a battered red couch they found on the sidewalk the week they moved in and grabs a blanket, switching on the television and getting down to some serious channel surfing. George Clooney and Brad Pitt are in the middle of discussing casino heist methodology when Chris crooks a finger at him and beckons him over. The huffy sigh he lets out is only partly fake.

“What?”

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Stop being a shit and come here.”

“Ugh,” Sebastian drags himself up, still attached to his blanket, and shuffles to the kitchen table. “Oh. Cool.”

The photos are surprisingly good. Chris is a genius with a camera but the last thing Sebastian usually wants to see is his own face in print. And yet. He’s smiling and he’s laughing, sitting on that stoop as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, which is true enough, for that moment. Chris tends to have that effect.

“You like?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess I do.”

Chris laughs delightedly and Sebastian’s heart skips a beat or two as if he isn’t already the biggest cliché ever. He leans over Chris’ shoulder and taps a few keys, flipping through the images before landing on one without his coat; he can’t help frowning at the way his jeans sit on his hips, the set of his shoulders, the elegant laugh lines starting to grow in the corners of his eyes. Somewhere to his left, there’s a sigh and Sebastian looks down to see an unacceptably deep frown on Chris’ face. He squeezes the older man’s shoulder, and gives him a look that says in no uncertain terms that he’s okay and intends to stay that way. Chris doesn’t look skeptical, per se, but he doesn’t entirely look as if he believes him, either. It’s probably the best he’s going to get so he lets it go, even if he’s not entirely sure that he should.

“Which one do you think I should use?” Chris asks, flicking through too fast. “I kind of like the first one but… I dunno. How am I supposed to know what they’re looking for?”

Sebastian shoves him playfully, “You’re the photographer.”

Chris gives him a look that says precisely what he thinks of that. A cheeky grin finds its way onto Sebastian’s face and he winks, which has Chris bursting into peals of hysterical laughter, holding his chest like it’s about to explode. Or possibly implode. There’s physics at play there that Sebastian doesn’t understand well enough to properly complete the simile.

“I just,” Chris says when he can breathe again. “I just want it to be right, you know?”

“Yeah.” Sebastian can be serious when he wants to be. “Yeah, I know. Look, I just think that whatever you choose needs to come from you, okay? Because it needs to show who you are and what you’re about because you’re so good and they need to see that, not some weird ass version of you. Just… don’t fucking compromise because you think that’s what it takes. It’s not worth it.”

Chris looks sad, then, softly, “Oh, Sebastian.”

He turns away because he can’t see that look, the pity and the fear, not when everything’s going so well and he’s not been thinking about it for days now and oh God, his heart’s going to jump right out of his chest and make a break for it if he doesn’t manage to calm down soon. Chris doesn’t mean to be patronizing and it almost isn’t, the pity, but it’s not what he needs, it’s nothing he can handle and he just needs things to be normal for a while. They can’t go back to the way things were, he knows that and he doesn’t want them to because none of that was remotely healthy. But. A day away from all this shit would be nice.

“I’m okay,” Sebastian breathes, hunching his shoulders and stepping back from the table, narrowly avoiding crashing into three different pieces of furniture as he scrambles out of the room.

Behind him, he hears a thump and curses in several different languages, the pronunciation slightly wrong for all of them and he has to bite his tongue to keep from automatically spitting out corrections. How one person can butcher so many accents has always been a source of amazement for Sebastian, ever since the day they met. Chris had been interning with a photographer who was shooting a spread for Sebastian’s boss at Variety, where he was temping as a personal assistant between college classes. It was Chris’ last day and he didn’t have anything much to do so he was trying not to get in the way by hiding out in one of the dressing rooms with a sketchbook and his camera when Sebastian stumbled across him, looking for his own hiding place when the stress all got a little bit too much. He’d smiled at him, wide and honest, offering to move if Sebastian needed the room for a while.

Right now, Sebastian’s genuinely considering the logistics of erecting a barricade between himself and the door, burrowing under a mound of blankets and refusing to come out ever again. Except he’s apparently run straight to Chris’ room instead of his own so that’d just be mean. He flicks the lock shut anyway and slides down to the floor, his back against the door, arms hugging bony knees tightly to his chest, head down. He’s sure that breathing used to be easier than this.

There’s a small noise out in the corridor and then Chris says, “I… I’m just going to sit here for a while, okay?”

He nods and then remembers that Chris can’t see him, “O… okay.”

“Good. Um. Right, so…”

And he just sits there and talks until Sebastian feels a little more like a human again. It feels like hours later when he can finally move. Chris, bless him, is still talking, voice low and soothing and surprisingly calm, but getting scratchier by the minute. Sebastian thinks about making him a cup of tea, then reaches up and flicks the lock open. He sits there for a moment, gathering himself, then pulls himself to his feet and opens the door. Tentative. A little sheepish. Mostly just desperate to be in Chris’ arms. So much so that he almost knocks his friend off his feet, hurling himself at the poor man and clinging onto those over-developed biceps for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tears finally flowing. “I know you said n… not to say it but… I’m sorry.”

“Uh. Um. Hi, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. I‘m the one that’s sorry. I should know better.”

“What?”

Chris sighs and scoops him up, ignoring the ensuing squawks of protest, carrying him into the front room and dumping him back on the couch. Sitting down, he pulls Sebastian into his lap and wraps strong, unflinching arms around him.

“I…” Chris sighs. “Look. Oh God, I’m not very good at this. Hang on.”

And then he’s up again, pottering around in their tiny kitchen, making tea.

“Damnit.”

“Huh?”

“I wanted to make tea. For your throat,” Sebastian’s aware that he sounds like a plaintive little boy but he doesn’t care. “You sound rough.”

“Oh.” Chris looks confused for a moment, then comprehension dawns. “Seb, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” He coughs a bit and looks guilty. “Okay, maybe I’m not being completely selfless here. The tea’s for me too. But it’s fine, honest.”

“Okay.”

Sebastian’s still on the couch but the apartment’s basically all one room so he can see and hear Chris perfectly fine. He sinks down into the cushions and tries to not think too hard. He’s pretty sure that he’s being handled and that maybe he should be feeling patronized but he’s also sure that Chris is just a really good person who gives a damn. He also knows that going through the process of making tea is Chris’ way of avoiding his own full blown panic attack so he lets him get on with it, taking the time to put his thoughts in some semblance of order so he can maybe start explaining all this when Chris is done.

“Here we go.”

He must have zoned out a little because after what seems like no time at all, Chris is crouching down in front of him with a steaming mug of tea in his hands, which smells suspiciously as if it’s been augmented with honey. Just the way Sebastian likes it.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Chris makes sure that Sebastian has a firm grasp of the handle before he lets go, “Do you think maybe we could talk a little now?”

“Mmm.”

“Seb?”

“Yeah. Um.” Sebastian shrugs, looks down into wide, blue eyes. “I’m… uh… Fuck.” He takes a sip of tea for something to do. “This is good. Thank you.”

There’s a feeling down in the pit of his stomach that he associates very specifically with panic and the smell of vomit. He imagines that this is how clothes feel just before they come out of the washing machine after a particularly intense cycle. His thoughts are racing so hard that they’re more of a blur than anything else. It’s like trying to think through treacle. The tea actually helps, a little.

“I’m sorry.” Chris says, hanging his head. “I didn’t think. I…”

“Stop.”

Sebastian leans forward and sets his mug down on the coffee table. Chris automatically moves it onto a mat, then shrugs, looking miserable and more than a little apologetic.

“Sorry,” he says again. “Fucking up in all kinds of ways today.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Crazy obsessive compulsive tendencies notwithstanding, I think you’re doing fine. And this isn’t about you, Chris. Not… exactly. It… what I said back there, when… You looked so… I felt pitied and I hate feeling pitied and you know I do and…” Sebastian gasps for breath and wonders when Chris got up, climbed onto the sofa and pulled him into his lap. “And I just… I need to know… I need you to stop looking at me differently. I know I scared the crap out of you last year and I’m sorry, I am, but you’ve got to stop. You’ve got to stop looking at me like that every time one of us says something that might be even a tiny bit triggering. I have to be able to talk about this stuff without one or both of us having a minor mental breakdown.”

There’s a blanket on the couch that neither of them remembers buying but they’re pretty sure that the previous tenants didn’t leave it behind. It’s dark purple and doesn’t match anything else they own but they both love it. Chris takes a sip from his own mug of tea and pulls it over both of them. Sebastian tries to drag himself away from bad memories. Chris smells clean, like soap and linen, and he focuses on that instead. He takes a deep breath, sighing heavily on the exhale.

Chris is biting his lip, worrying at it with his teeth. His brow is deeply furrowed and he looks lost in thought. Sebastian absently wonders if he could balance a pencil in one of those furrows and whether Chris would notice if he actually tried.

“It’s not pity, Seb,” Chris finally says. “I just feel sad about you feeling sad. You’re so wonderful and… and… I just want you to be happy.”

“I love you.” Sebastian claps a hand to his mouth the moment the words are out, then laughs a little at the cartoonish absurdity of it. Another cliché. “I… I mean…”

Everything feels a bit fuzzy and he wonders muzzily if he’s about to throw up. Leaning his forehead on Chris’ shoulder, he takes a moment to process what just happened. Chris’ sweater’s really soft. He knows that Chris would have just assumed it a declaration of friendship and brotherly love if he hadn’t reacted like such a drama queen and he mentally slaps himself a few times. Chris doesn’t let go though. He doesn’t, in fact, move even a muscle. Sebastian doesn’t really know what to do with that.

Dimly, he hears Chris call his name, “Sebastian? Hey, you with me, kiddo?”

“Not really,” he manages to mumble.

“Okay, it’s okay.” Chris sounds like he’s trying not to panic. “I want to try something, okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Okay. Okay, I want you to tell me five things that you can see.”

The rooms spins a bit when Sebastian manages, after a long moment, to lift his head a little. He can’t see anything if he’s still got his face buried in Chris’ sweater, however safe the alternative might feel right now.

“Blanket,” he manages. “Um. Couch. Mug. Um. Floor. Table.”

“Good, you’re doing so good for me, Seb. Now tell me four things you can hear, okay?”

Sebastian starts shaking then; Chris’ voice cuts straight through the static filling his ears and that’s about it. But Chris is scared and that’s unacceptable so he forces himself to take a deep breath, closes his eyes and tries to listen.

“Tr… traffic.” He hates the way his voice breaks as he stumbles over the word. “Um. Breathing.” That’s him, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps and sobs. He drops his head back down to rest on Chris’ chest. “Your heart.” It sounds way too fast, beating frantically in time with Chris’ worry for Sebastian. “Um, I don’t… I…” He’s almost overwhelmed by the lack of another sound to list and he doesn’t know quite what to do with that either. He’s not sure he could cope with letting Chris down. Not again. “Shit. Um. Rain. Outside.”

“You’re doing so good, Seb,” Chris assures him, tone much calmer than his heartbeats suggest. Sebastian wills himself to calm down, to stop scaring Chris. “I’m really proud of you. Can you tell me three things you can feel?”

Sebastian thinks he might be beginning to cotton onto what Chris is doing, which is surely a good sign that his brain might start functioning again soon, “You. Cushions. Um. My t-shirt?”

He can hear the smile in Chris’ voice, “That works. Okay, how about two things you can smell?”

“Tea. And… Caramel. New shampoo?”

“Yeah. Thought it was time I stopped stealing yours. You like it?”

“Mmm. Sweet.”

“It reminded me of you,” Chris says, somehow casual and cautious all at the same time. “Okay, this is the last thing, I promise. One thing you can taste.”

“Honey,” Sebastian says immediately. “Also sweet. Reminds me of you.” He’s not really feeling brave enough for that last part, clearly, but he’s determined to say it anyway. He takes a deep breath, then another; everything starts to feel clear again, more solid. “How did you know how to do that? What even was that?”

“Grounding exercise,” Chris says, then looks away. “Learned it after… after last year. Um. For you.”

“Oh.” Sebastian stares at him. “Thank you.”


	2. Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was struggling a little with this chapter - I know where I'm going with the next one but something about this part just wasn't working for me - but I'm feeling extra protective of real-life Sebastian today so the hurt/comfort practically wrote itself...

**Then**

Sebastian doesn’t want to do this anymore. Hell, he doesn’t want to be here for one more second. Not here, not on this planet, not anywhere. He looks around the room and sees nothing but vacuous, self-important people that he doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know and doesn’t care about. And he hates himself for it because it shouldn’t matter that they don’t know the difference between an exoplanet and a black hole or that they can’t see that he’s having a meltdown right in front of them. They’re people and that should be enough for them to matter to him. Chris always tells him to forget about should and shouldn’t, that there’s no such thing, but it’s not that easy. He mutters something to the shoot director about Starbucks runs and blood sugar, before grabbing his coat and running out the door as fast as he possibly can without looking like a complete madman. He’s pretty sure that he’s only partially succeeded. Ironic that it should be a photoshoot that finally breaks him.

“Sebastian! Wait! Sebastian, please! Just stop for a minute.”

It’s takes him entirely too long to recognize the voice calling after him. When he does, he slows but doesn’t completely stop. He needs to get as far away from that fucking place as he possibly can. Tears are beginning to prick at the corner of his eyes and that’s something he just doesn’t need right now.

“What?” he snaps, trying his best not to lose it completely.

“Where are you going?”

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking. Hey…”

A hand lands on his arm and he spins, knocking it away with a violent backhander.

“Don’t. Touch me.”

“Okay. Okay.” Joe, the director, puts his hands up, backing away. “Sorry, okay? Sebastian, what the hell is going on?”

“I… I quit. I just… I quit. I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.”

It’s all empty and he’s empty and he can feel that. A huge, aching space inside him that nothing is ever going to be able to fill. He almost doubles over as the realization. Backing away from Joe, he shakes his head and apologizes again. Then he’s running, running, running, until he has to stop otherwise he’s going to puke and there’s nothing in there worth speaking of so it’ll hurt like hell.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes, leaning against a nearby railing.

When he looks up, he does a double take. He’s somewhere in the middle of Central Park, probably, and there’s a river and ducks and a bridge, which he’s currently sort of standing on if his legs will stop threatening to dump him onto the wooden slats. The ducks are kind of cute. And then he’s crying, big, heaving sobs, and he can’t stop even though he doesn’t really know how he started. The bridge is right in his face now and a throbbing pain in his knee alerts him to the fact that he maybe, probably, almost certainly, just collapsed, which maybe isn’t all that surprising given the way his body seems to be doing its very best to shake itself apart.

Somehow, alone and afraid and totally out of it, Sebastian manages to get his phone out of his pocket. The only thing he can imagine doing is calling Chris so that’s what he does, praying that he won’t be in the middle of a shoot. His stomach twists with guilt as he remembers where he’s supposed to be, what he’s supposed to be doing, all the people he’s probably letting down. When Chris picks up, sounding sleepy and a little out of it himself, all Sebastian can do is sob.

“Seb? Seb, what’s wrong? Where are you, kiddo?”

He can hear Chris’s breathing speed up when he doesn’t reply. Chris has had panic attacks for years, bad ones, too, and that’s what shakes him out of it, just long enough to tell Chris that he’s in the park but he doesn’t know where. Chris tells him to stay where he is and start describing what he can see.

It’s slow going but half an hour later a pair of boots appear in front of him and a voice that sounds suspiciously like it belongs to Chris says, “I’m not getting down there.”

A laugh forces itself out of Sebastian’s chest, although right now it sounds more like a hysterical sob. He lets Chris pull him to his feet, falling into the taller man’s arms as soon as they’re both sure he’s not just going to end up back on the ground again. Sebastian latches onto Chris and refuses to let go, even after they walk through the front door of their apartment. Nothing else feels real or solid right now and he’s scared that if he lets go, even that tiny bit of stability will melt away. He dimly recognizes that Chris is talking, catching snatches of speech, blurred out of recognition by the pounding in his head and rushing in his ears. He thinks he might pass out. He tries to focus but it’s too hard and he gives up almost as soon as he starts.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as his knees decide to malfunction and he falls against Chris. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

They somehow make it home – Chris calls a cab after Sebastian practically passes out in panic at the idea of going anywhere near the subway – where Sebastian immediately makes a beeline for his bedroom. He crawls under the covers, fully dressed, blinking in surprise as Chris climbs in after him. He imagines that lying down will make him feel better but it really, really doesn’t. He curls into Chris’ side, which is far more effective.

“Sebastian?” Chris sounds worried and that’s not okay. “You with me, kiddo?”

“I… I don’t know.” He stumbles over his words. The room spins. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Tell me what’s going on in there?” Chris gently taps the side of Sebastian’s head.

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know that. You’re going to think I’m ridiculous.”

Chris snorts, “You know what I think is ridiculous? You. Thinking that whatever you’re going through doesn’t matter. Because you will always matter, Sebastian. I promise. Tell me what’s going on. Please.”

“You’re not going to judge me for..?” Sebastian cuts himself off and buries his face in Chris’ chest, embarrassed. He smells of fresh linen and grapefruit and Sebastian’s new shampoo that he promised he wouldn’t borrow.

“No judgement. Not here, not ever.”

Sebastian means to tell him, he really does, but what comes out instead is, “I feel sick.” Then, “I’m really fucking tired, Chris.” And, plaintively, “Please don’t go?”

Chris stiffens.

“I’m not going _anywhere_.” He sounds downright ferocious and maybe even a tiny bit insulted; Sebastian almost, _almost_ , laughs. “I’ll be right here, as long as you need me or until you tell me to fuck off.”

Sebastian does laugh, then.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Swallowing hard, his voice shakes as he quietly admits, “I quit my job today.”

Chris is quiet for a moment, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just…” Sebastian trails off, unsure. “It’s just… I just… I don’t know.”

And then he tells him everything. It pours out in a broken stream of consciousness, disjointed and probably completely nonsensical; he’s not even really sure what he’s saying at this point, but Chris listens, sympathetic and concerned and so completely on his side that Sebastian finds it hard to believe that any of this is actually _real_. He tells Chris that he doesn’t feel like a person anymore, that it feels as if there’s no meaning in anything he does, about the shallowness of the self-absorbed people at the magazine and how he worries that he’s becoming like them, that he’s losing everything that makes him Sebastian. He quietly admits, voice quavering, unable to meet Chris’ eyes, that he doesn’t know when he last ate and that he hasn’t spoken to his therapist in an alarmingly long time. When he’s done, Sebastian tries to match his hitching breaths to Chris’ calm, steady in and out, to listen as Chris tells him that it’s okay, that he understands, that everything’s going to be alright. Chris sounds equally sure of himself and completely terrified.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian tries to tell him. He doesn’t ever want to scare Chris. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

They’re both crying now. Sebastian sniffs furiously, trying to stop the tears, but it doesn’t really work. It does make his head hurt.

“I need to pee,” Chris says after a while, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Sebastian surprises both of them with a small snort of laughter. He wipes his eyes and gives Chris a gentle shove, “Go. I’ll be okay.”

Chris’ probably gone for a matter of minutes, but it feels like hours. Sebastian plays with the corner of the comforter and tries to think about something other than his rapidly crumbling sense of equilibrium. His head really hurts. He wonders what all of this would look like from the outside, what it looks like to Chris. By the time Chris comes back, Sebastian’s crying again, even harder than before.

“Sorry, I… Sorry,” he stammers, when Chris looks alarmed. “I’m okay, really, I don’t know why I’m crying… Oh God, I’m sorry… You don’t need this, I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter, I don’t matter, you don’t have to worry about me…”

Chris’ expression reaches almost comic levels of concern and practically launches himself at Sebastian.

“You matter,” he says firmly. “ You matter very much. Can I hug you?”

Sebastian stares at him, “Um. Yes.”

Chris climbs back into the bed and wraps his arms around Sebastian, and together they just sit and breathe for a while. Something inside Sebastian starts to settle. He hates that he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next – although he has a strong suspicion that Chris is going to attempt to force feed him pizza and lasagna and blueberries at some point, hopefully not all at the same time – but that doesn’t matter very much in the face of Chris’ ferocious belief in him. Everything’s been so out of control lately and cleaning up the aftermath, getting back to something approaching sanity, is going to be a long road and it’s going to suck. But the anxiety that going to work at the same shitty job with the same shitty people day after day has pretty much disappeared entirely. He feels worn out and empty and shaky but there’s relief there, too. And hope, maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted any RPF in a very long time (and have long since taken down any I had up on AO3), and I've never written Chris and Sebastian before so hopefully this isn't terrible...


End file.
